


Fool's errand

by lazlong



Series: Fool's Errand [1]
Category: Gone With the Wind - All Media Types, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell, NCIS
Genre: 20 minute writing challenge, Atheism, F/F, F/M, Humour, Idiots in Love, M/M, Parody, Promiscuity, Swearing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazlong/pseuds/lazlong
Summary: The difference between reality and a pipe dream is the effort, they said. It is gonna be fun, they said. This is nightmare and somebody is going to maimed, so slowwwly...





	Fool's errand

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is mine. Obviously.

_The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men_  
Gang aft agley,  
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,  
For promis'd joy!

_© R. Burns_

The idiotic, idealistic, brave and quite dead Tarleton twins. Nuttering. Twittering. The tension is claiming waist, and surreal feeling is overwhelming, like a wave crashing over head, long-ago, surfing for first time;  all-encompassing and damning helplessness; nauseating smells and sounds, out of dream once longed to return to, once upon a time, now suffocating nightmare.

The most disappointing thing, when reflecting on all that has happened, is the fact, that not with a boom and bang, it is not with a head hit hard, or at least direct hit of bullet and dramatic slipping in coma. Not, not at all. It is with crisp spring air, and March rolling around, and letting down the guard. It is with own stupidity and arrogance, and idiotic sentimentality, and ignoring all warning signs flashing all the way.

The damn shoes are maiming legs, and the constant chatter right now drives mad. Well, that and taking into account idiotic advice of that shrink “Face your fears!”. No matter how good he was in the sack, his advice sucked, and not in pleasant way. When I get out of it, when and not if, this is it: #71 “Never, ever involve shrinks!”

Trouble of own making, as usual. Case in Atlanta, a couple of very dead marines turning up? Why not! I can brave it, despite vague unease creeping up, when returning to old haunts. Tremor returning to my hands? Just suppress it, grab the wheel and hit pedal to the metal, enjoying the whiteness of the latest Probie (he had the most sense of us all, probably), basking in the approval of two oldest comrades, dearest friends?

Turns out, the case is in country-side, actually? One, extremely well-known country-side, coming up? Yess, Sir! Let us roll!

Should have faked illness? Shouldn't I? Ought to! No... too thrilled, the old fool, to _just take a look, nothing going to happen to me,_ _that was too long ago, it is gonna be fun_ _._ The closer we get, the more fields, glimmering with red dust, covered in melting snow, reflecting in the morning sun, are looking like blood shed years and years ago? Smelling it?

Just a blink of eye and ill-adversed step later on glistening, predatory porch, and we are not in Kansas, anymore.. we are in deep, deep trouble, Houston. Worse than stranded in the Cape Town, without money and clear memory of arriving, this escapade tops even most harebrained schemes, on-the-spot applying for Iraq notwithstanding.

God! They are still talking.. treat for eyes, torture for mind. If I look at them long enough and tune them out, there would be a very nice sandwich, indeed..  does not help! I want to kill somebody. Or, to take the edge off, or beat in pulp at least. Trigger-happy Kate, I was. Still am. Just better at impulse-control, for time being.

 

 


End file.
